


Gains

by Tentygal



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Shenanigans, garrison squad being dumb, the trainer/trainee fic you didnt know you needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentygal/pseuds/Tentygal
Summary: Lance goes to the gym to make gains and falls in love instead. Allura is not amused.





	Gains

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if u see any typos that u want me to fix!

 

The first time he sees her is near death for them all. 

 

It’s 7:00 am and Lance is still half-asleep (which never bodes well), struggling with his final set of squats. Hunk hovers behind him, “spotting” (code: yawning), while Pidge has already finished her run and is getting changed. Just as Lance hits the deepest point of his last squat, legs quaking with effort,  _ she  _ walks by--a girl so beautiful that his first instinct is to rub his eyes and make sure he’s not hallucinating. This is, understandably, a pretty lethal instinct when holding over 150 pounds, and regret hits him in the split second before all hell breaks loose. 

 

One side of the bar slips from his fingers and immediately yanks the other half of his body down with it, Lance shrieks, Hunk dives for the bar and misses it by inches, crashes into Lance, and sends the other boy’s head directly into unforgiving metal. The twin clangs of bone on metal and bar on guardrail bring the gym to a standstill. 

 

“Woops.” Hunk puts his hands over his mouth. “We, uh, really fucked up there. Oh, Jeez, Lance, buddy, are you okay? Lance? I think we’re gonna need--hey! Is there a doctor here? My friend needs a doctor, I think he may have sustained a concussion?”   
  


“Ow, dude, pipe down. I’m fine, I’m fine. See?” Lance pulls himself up, speaking to the gym at large: “Everything’s fine here, sorry about that, people! Nothing to see here! Carry on!” He wheels back around, fully prepared to lay into Hunk for the half-assed spotting job, and that’s when he notices that  _ the goddess is still there.  _

 

The bottom drops out of his stomach. There’s no way she missed what just happened--and worse, judging from her crossed arms and unimpressed frown, she didn’t find it all that amusing, either. “According to gym policy, you should be dedicating your  _ full  _ attention to your workout and surroundings for the safety of yourself and others,” she huffs in a surprisingly crisp accent. “ _ Not  _ oggling passersby.” 

 

“Princess, when  _ you’re  _ in my surroundings, how can I give my attention to anything else?” Lance asks, before he can stop himself. “I mean--no, of course. You’re so right. Sorry--it won’t happen again. I promise. Plus, my  _ friend  _ here will help me keep a lookout next time,  _ right,  _ big guy?” 

 

The woman just sniffs, flicks her long, silvery braids over her shoulder, and carries on towards the front desk. 

 

Not quite before she’s out of earshot, Hunk pounces. “You liiiike her,” he crows, obnoxiously close to Lance’s face. And then, in a poor imitation of a British accent, “Oh Lonce, your squats were  _ so  _ impressive; you’ll have to show me your routine sometime!” 

 

“Shut up dude,” snaps Lance. “I only dropped that weight ‘cause I was tired and  _ someone  _ wasn’t helping me.” 

 

“Hey man, you’re the one that said you wanted a ‘poppin’ butt by spring break’--it’s not my fault you’re lifting too heavy.” 

 

Lance gasps in mock affront. “Are you doubting my strength? My  _ gains?  _ My  _ glutes of steel? _ ” 

 

“Alls I’m saying is--you might wanna bring it down a notch if you’re going to be scoping girls  _ and  _ lifting at the same time.” Hunk lifts his hands like he’s surrendering, instead of making the rational call. 

 

“Whatever--let’s go shower.” And that’s as close as Lance is going to get to admitting that Hunk may have a point.  

 

\---

“Oh,  _ man,  _ you should have seen it,” Hunk is saying twenty minutes later, as they drive to their first lecture. “It was, like, the trainwreck to end all trainwrecks. And she didn’t even ask if he was  _ okay;  _ she just looked, like, 100% done. Like she gets that all the time.”    
  


“Which she probably does,” Lance interjects, drawn into the story despite himself. “Pidge, I swear she was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” 

  
“You say that about  _ every  _ girl you meet, Lance.” 

“What?! I do  _ not _ ! Name  _ one  _ other girl that I’ve said that about.” 

“Hira, Plaxum, literally three of the girls in my sorority--” 

“Okay, okay, maybe I get a little carried away sometimes. But this time I really mean it. She had these, like, silver braids--” 

“You  _ do  _ know those were probably fake, right?” 

“...So? They still looked good on her! And she was really tall and buff….Her skin looked super smooth….” 

“Ugh, creepy.” 

“She had this fancy, smart-sounding accent….” 

Pidge gives up on him and turns back towards the front of the car, wishing not for the first time that they had one of those window-divider things so that she could roll it up and drown out Lance. Maybe she could make her own…? Hunk breaks her reverie. “You know...that girl was wearing a nametag, Lance. She’s probably one of the personal trainers there.” 

“Oh Jeez,” Pidge rolls her eyes. “Here we go.” 

\---

“You can’t. You can’t ask her to be your personal trainer; that’s way too weird.” 

“ _ See? _ ” butts in Pidge. “That’s what  _ I  _ said. It’s totally creepy! Like, she  _ knows  _ you already have your own routine and--” 

“Yeah, right, like I’m gonna listen to you and  _ Keith  _ when it comes to romance. Science? Math?  _ Maybe.  _ But I’m pretty much the only one here that’s fluent in the _ language of love _ , so excuse me if I stick with my own game plan.” 

“I thought...French was the language of love? Not Spanish?” 

“It was a  _ simile, _ Keith, God.” 

“Metaphor, actually,” Pidge mutters under her breath. No one is listening. 

“Hunk, buddy,  _ you  _ have a girlfriend--what do  _ you  _ think?” 

“I dunno, man. Shay and I actually, like,  _ knew  _ each other before I asked her--” 

“I would say ‘knew each other’ is a generous way of putting it, Hunk. All you guys did was sort rocks--” 

“ _ Specimens. _ ” 

“Yeah, yeah, that. My point is--I already talked to…” he drifts off for a moment, fishing for the name that was on her tag, “... _ Allura _ , like, way longer than you talked to Shay before you made a move, so I think I’m in pretty good shape here. We’re gonna work out together, she’ll be wooed by my manly strength and  _ control  _ of the weights, we’ll become a power-couple and start a fitspo Instagram…” Lance continues to prattle on, oblivious to the huddle that Hunk, Keith, and Pidge have formed behind him. 

“Do you think he’s actually gonna do it?”    
  


“Oh yeah, Pidge, you should have seen the way he was looking at her. I mean, I think the real question is, is  _ she  _ gonna go for it?” 

“Money’s money.” 

“Yeah, but Lance is...Lance.” 

“Hey, Keith, don’t be mean.” 

“He  _ does  _ have a point; I’d be totally freaked out if some random dude asked me to train him after almost killing himself to check me out.” 

“Yeah, but come on, he’s totally harmless.” Hunk looks dubious even as he says it. 

“You know how he gets when he’s into someone, though,” points out Pidge. “His pick-up lines are, like, a national tragedy.” 

“Then again,” Keith smirks, “It could be fun to see where this goes….” 

\---

Wednesday morning finds Hunk’s car slightly more cramped than usual. 

“Ugh, Keith, stop breathing in my face!”    
  


“Stop putting your face near my mouth.” 

  
“Why didn’t you brush your teeth already?” 

“I brush after I work out. It saves time.” 

“Why are you even coming to work out with us anyway? Don’t you and Shiro have your own routine?”    
  


“Yeah--that’s why he’s here, too, dumbass.” 

Pidge cranes her neck to look at the back seat and feels a pang of pity for Shiro, sandwiched between Keith and Lance, and looking simultaneously ready to scream and fall back asleep. Although he had insisted that he and Keith simply wanted to try the other fitness center on campus because it was closer to their favorite library, Pidge nurses the suspicion that he’s come along to witness the impending disaster that is Lance’s first training session with Allura. 

They pull into the gym lot, swipe their student membership cards, and then Keith, Pidge, and Shiro try to not be too obvious about dawdling over the towels while Lance bounces on the balls of his feet. Hunk just looks straight up nauseous. At 6:45 sharp, the staff office door opens, and Allura steps out. Pidge feels her jaw drop. Lance wasn’t kidding--Allura  _ is  _ one of the most beautiful women Pidge has ever laid eyes on. She’s tall and slim, with strikingly toned arms and waist-length silver box braids. Somehow, she makes the shapeless black “TRAINER” shirt look chic, which is when Pidge knows definitively that Lance has bitten off more than he can chew. Allura bounds out from behind the desk and turns to Shiro, who’s standing nearest to her. 

“Good morning! Are you my 6:45?” she asks cheerfully, and  _ oh, God there’s that fancy accent,   _ Pidge thinks, struggling to pull her useless lesbian self together.

“Uh, no sorry,” Shiro smiles apologetically. “I was just, um, checking out the protein shakes. I think my friend is the one you’re looking for.” He jerks his thumb at Lance, who’s standing slack-jawed and beet red to his left. “ _ Wow,”  _  Shiro mouths over the top of Lance’s head.

Pidge can only nod her agreement. Keith, half hidden behind Shiro, has stuffed his fist in his mouth in a vain attempt to muffle his wheezing laughter. Hunk excuses himself to use the restroom. Pidge can practically see the moment everything clicks together for Allura. First, she recognizes Hunk. Then her gaze slides to Lance and her smile evaporates more quickly than butter in an over-hot pan. “Oh. It’s you.” 

Lance recovers himself quickly. “Why, yes, my name is Lance García, I believe I am your 6:45, if I’m reading your name tag correctly, Ms….Allura?” Pidge rolls her eyes at his pretense. 

“Pleasure.” Allura doesn’t sound like she means it. “We’ve met.” 

“Have we? I don’t recall--” 

Allura cuts him off. “So, what are you trying to get out of our time together, Lance?” 

“Well, Princess--” 

“Are you bulking, looking to lose weight, toning, or trying to build muscular endurance?” 

“Um, muscular endurance, I guess. I mean I’m already on this program where--”

“Where you make eyes at the women in the gym and carelessly drop weights?” asks Allura sweetly. 

Keith chokes. Shiro says, slightly too loud, “Alright Pidge, let’s go start our run now.” The three of them beat a hasty retreat. 

\---

  
  


Allura had never signed up for this. She’d become a personal trainer to make some money for grad school and because she liked helping people. She’d signed up for early mornings, multiple jobs, demanding hours, apathetic customers, awkward small talk between sets--but not Lance García. Not once in their forty-five minute session does he cease trying to finesse her, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously or winking every time their eyes meet in the mirror, calling her “Princess,” and delivering increasingly cringe-worthy pick-up lines whenever he can catch his breath (she quickly decides to increase his cardio). For someone who takes her work--however temporary it may be--and her dignity as seriously as Allura does, it’s frankly infuriating. To make matters worse, Lance is...not abhorrent. She finds herself grudgingly attracted to his cocky grin and easy swagger (although his ears are weirdly small), and almost laughs at one or two of his jokes.  _ Unacceptable,  _ she thinks to herself.  _ I’m certainly not going to jeopardize my professionality for this... _ manchild _.  _

By the end of the session, it’s hard to say who’s more exhausted. “Well, Lance,” Allura says as they walk towards the locker rooms, “you’re certainly less hopeless than I thought. Now that I’ve seen what you can do, I think I’ll have a solid plan for you by next week. Same time then?” 

“Absolutely, Princess. Unless you’d like to get dinner with me before that?” He steps into her space with a grin. 

“Lance, let me ask you something.” 

“Is that a yes?”    
  


“Did you read the terms and conditions when you signed up for this program?” 

“I--uh, yes, absolutely, uh huh.” 

“Then you would know that harassing a trainer in any way, shape, or form, including by making  _ unwanted advances,  _ is grounds for suspension of your membership.” Allura tries not to notice the way his face falls, steeling herself to continue: “So please, leave me alone, Lance. I don’t date clients, and I don’t work with people that won’t take this seriously. If you continue to harass me, I’m going to report you.” 

He steps back, shoulders sagging. “I--I’m sorry, Allura. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I’ll tone it down.” 

She’s taken aback by how genuinely contrite he sounds--she’d been expecting a more aggressive confrontation, or at least denial. Instead, he seems utterly sincere.  _ Don’t soften up now,  _ she reminds herself sternly.  _ He’s probably just looking for your weak spots.  _

“Um...yes, well, good,” she says. “See that it doesn’t. Now--don’t forget to take a hot shower and eat as soon as you get home. I’ll email you a routine by Saturday, then you can give me your feedback. Sound good?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles weakly. “See you next time.” 

\---

The ride back to the dorms is ominously quiet. Even Keith, who can usually be counted on to rile up Lance, says nothing. They’d split up to do their respective routines in the gym, but it doesn’t take much work to guess how the training session went: Lance’s slumped posture and dejected frown speak for themselves. Pidge fiddles with the radio, Keith looks out the window. Shiro’s fallen back asleep. Eventually, Hunk breaks the silence. “Well, buddy, it was worth a shot. Personal training’s not for everyone--you can totally still workout with me, you know.” 

Lance mumbles something indistinct from the backseat. 

“Huh?” 

“I  _ said,  _ I’m sticking with it.” 

“No, no, really I don’t mind, I--wait, what?” 

“Yeah, my next session’s on Wednesday.” 

“Lance, man, you can’t be serious. She looked so pissed the whole time! Don’t you think it would be better if--” 

“She’s just training me, Hunk. It’s a business transaction, is all.” 

“But I thought you--” 

“You thought  _ what _ ?” 

“Uh...nevermind.” 

For a moment there’s tense silence, and then Lance cries, “Jesus, Pidge, can we  _ please  _ stop switching the station every goddamn second?”    
  


Hunk wisely decides to spend the rest of his afternoon out of the dormroom. 

\---

He finally dares to re-enter their room around six that evening, having finished the final draft of his essay, and in desperate need of a second pair of eyes before turning it in. He opens the door tentatively. “Lance? Buddy? You in here?”    
  


“Yeah, over here.” 

Lance is sitting on his bed, huddled under the covers and watching something that looks suspiciously like  _ Titanic  _ on his laptop. A red flag; Lance watches romantic movies only on first dates, when drunk, or at the height of a depressive episode. “Wanna go for an ice-cream, or something?” Hunk asks, plopping down on the end of Lance’s bed. 

“It’s winter, Hunk.”    
  


“Yeah, but essays always make me crave Ben and Jerry’s.” 

“Everything makes you crave Ben and Jerry’s,” Lance reminds him, with a hint of his usual snark. “But...out of the generosity of my heart, and because I am the best friend ever, I guess I’ll go with you.” He heaves a huge sigh as he drags himself from the bed--still in his gym clothes, Hunk notices--and rummages around in the swamp of discarded laundry, textbooks, and papers heaped on their floor until he can find a pair of shoes. Lance wrinkles his nose. “We really need to clean this shit up.” 

Warning sign number two: Lance volunteering to complete more than the most basic of chores. Between this and  _ Titanic,  _ Hunk’s not sure ice-cream alone is going to cut it. “Uh, sure,” he says, trying to keep his tone upbeat, rather than worried. “When we get back.” 

Hunk drives them downtown, and they end up finding parking a mere half-block from the ice-cream parlor. He tries to take this as a good omen, but his optimism is obliterated as soon as they walk through the door. “Welcome to Ben and Jerry’s!” cries the pretty cashier, in an chillingly familiar voice. Hunk stops dead and tries to put his wide shoulders between the counter and Lance, but it’s too late. Whether or not Lance has actually seen her, there’s no mistaking that clipped accent. Somehow, between two weeks ago, when they had visited for pre-midterm ice-cream cones, and now, Allura has gotten a job at  _ this  _ particular Ben and Jerry’s, working shifts on  _ this  _ particular day and time. Sometimes, Hunk wonders if the universe is laughing at him. 

“Oh, Lance,” he says loudly, turning away from the register, where Allura maintains her aggressively cheerful customer service smile, “I think I forgot to put money in the meter--would you mind going to check?” 

But Lance is a boy determined. He marches around Hunk and up to the counter. “Hi, Allura,” he says, looking her dead in the eye. “I’d like a double scoop of mint chip, please.” 

She takes his order wordlessly, and he waits with his fists stuffed in his pockets before paying for his order and choosing a seat at the counter. Hunk stumbles through his own order, still in shock.    
  


“Uh, Lance?” he asks, when he’s finally got a seat. “What was up with that?” 

“With what?” asks Lance. 

“With what? With  _ what?  _ Uh, okay, first off--you ordered a double scoop, and it’s Wednesday, which means not your cheat day, which means you’re falling off the grind for your ‘glutes of steel,’ which you haven’t done in three months. And second--are we not gonna talk about the fact that the woman that you’re  _ madly in love with  _ and  _ trained with this morning  _ just happened to show up here today?”    
  


“What’s there to say? She’s just serving ice-cream.” 

“Weren’t you, like, crying about her this morning?” 

“What? No way, dude, Lance García does  _ not  _ cry over women. Or men. If anything, I’m the one that  _ makes  _ people cry. The heartbreaker. Cool. Suave.” 

Hunk doesn’t deign to respond to this, opting instead for another question. “Well--why didn’t you say anything else to her? Like--oh, I don’t know-- 'hi’? ‘Good to see you again’? Literally anything?” 

Lance frowns. “Listen, buddy, it’s like I said. She’s just serving ice-cream. And she happens to be my personal trainer. So what? It’s not like we’re, like, best friends all of the sudden. Bu-sin-ess transaction,” he spells out obnoxiously. “Remember?”  

“Okay….” 

\---

Was Lance lying to Hunk? No. Absolutely not. They were best friends! But was he bending the truth slightly? Maybe. It had to be done sometimes. Lance wasn’t going to admit that he had it as bad for Allura as he did, and he was also going to develop a better courtship strategy. A foolproof strategy. The sort of thing that only a womanizer of his caliber could ever hope to dream up. He just--didn’t know where to start with that. Yet. Until then, the plan was to offend Allura as little as possible. Which seemed to include keeping interactions with her to a minimum. 

As Lance nibbles his ice-cream and listens to Hunk rant about his essay, he reviews their training session in his head. The thing is, until the Talk that she’d given him, he didn’t think it had gone too badly. She’d laughed at some of his dumb jokes--or at least, had been about to. And even though she wasn’t one to chat between sets, he could tell that she was smart from the way she explained each exercise, articulating the movement and muscle groups in clear, concise language. If there was one thing he noticed instantly about a person, it was their grammar. Lance had grown up in a bilingual household, but neither of his parents spoke English as a first language. They’d been determined that their children be different: never be laughed at for their accents, or bullied for fumbling their words. So he had suffered through years of English tutoring and after school writing programs--nevermind that he’d almost always spoken English as a native. Normally, Lance was wary of people that spoke in what he dubbed “snotty speak”--they tended to be the same sort of people that mocked his parents--but Allura didn’t sound pretentious when she used big words, just sophisticated and knowledgeable. It made Lance want to talk to her more. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was also gorgeous and had biceps like Athena (or at least, how Lance imagined Athena’s biceps). 

Seeing her at the ice-cream shop had been a pretty big shock. He hadn’t fixed his hair, or brushed his teeth, or even bothered to change out of his sweat pants--but he’d had to remind himself that Allura didn’t even see him as a romantic prospect yet. He’d played it off as cool, instead. One might even say ice-cold. Now that the interaction was past, though, he couldn’t help second-guessing himself. Had he come off too strong? Had he been rude? Did she hate his guts even more than she already seemed to? He bounced his knee under the table, unable to focus on whatever Hunk was saying. Suddenly, a large hand materialized out of nowhere, obstructing his field of vision. 

  
“Lance? Buddy? Do you copy?” Hunk’s face swims into focus as he leans over the table to wave Lance back to the present. 

“Uh, what?” Lance blinks. “Sorry--I didn’t hear what you just said.” 

“I was saying that Shay and I are going to a film fest on Friday, and you should come.”  _ To get your mind off things,  _ Hunk finishes in his head. 

“Ugh, Hunk, you know how I feel about your weird foreign film things.” 

“C’mon,” Hunk wheedles, “it’s gonna be all about Latin American culture.” 

“What, so you think I’ll be interested just because I’m Latino?” 

“...Yes?”

“Well, shit, you’re right.” 

  
  


\---

Friday finds Lance once again in the back seat of Hunk’s car, trying his best not to feel like a third wheel. Hunk and Shay are just so disgustingly cute--even now, Hunk drives with one hand on the wheel and the other clasping his girlfriend’s. 

“So,” says Lance loudly, “what’re we going to again?”    
  
“It’s a series of short films produced by a Latinx art collective,” Shay explains. “Most of them are up-and-coming artists in Latin America.” 

“Wow, what a great way to kick off the weekend.” 

  
“I think it’s going to be really interesting!” says Shay, either oblivious to his sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. “I’ve seen pieces by most of these artists already; they’re really very talented. And it’s free for students.” 

“And there’ll be snacks,” puts in Hunk. “I mean, I brought my own, too. But still.” 

Lance slouches down in his seat. He can’t believe that he’s third-wheeling such a lame date when he could be getting ahead on homework or calling his family or…okay, so the alternatives were pretty non-lit, too. College was definitely not the party scene he’d envisioned. Still. Lance doesn’t need to watch movies (“They’re  _ films,  _ Lance.” “Whatever, man.”) about Latin America--he’d grown up visiting extended family in Cuba.

When they arrive at the venue, though, he has to admit that the evening might be more fun than anticipated. For starters, the place is totally packed with babes. Of the art-ho variety to be sure, but hey--Lance doesn’t discriminate. He detaches himself from Hunk and Shay under the pretext of getting a drink, and begins to mingle with the crowd.  

  
“Excuse me--are you in line for the bathroom?” asks someone just behind him. 

Lance turns around and finds himself face-to-face with a gorgeous blonde. “I uh...wha--no, no, I’m not in line. Sorry.” He shuffles awkwardly away from the wall, cursing his traitorous tongue. 

Fortunately, the girl seems to find his stammer cute rather than pathetic. “Oh no, you’re fine,” she giggles. “I was just checking to see how bad the wait is for my friend. He’s getting our drinks right now.” 

“Oh, ok...cool. Um, yeah the wait’s not too bad, I think. Haven’t seen anyone going in or out. I’m Lance, by the way.” 

“Nyma,” she replies, extending her hand. “What brings you here?” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “My friend pressured me into coming.” 

“Really? Me, too!” 

“Is your friend also into artsy films?”    
  


“More like a Latin Studies major, but same difference.” 

They chat for a few more minutes--the crowd’s dense enough that Nyma’s friend texts her to meet at their seats, rather than going to find him--and Lance is finally starting to feel like he’s getting in the groove when he spots a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around. It’s her, alright. Allura, unmistakeable from her hair and posture, though not in her trainer uniform or Ben and Jerry’s apron. He cranes his neck, trying to see if she’s come alone. 

“Hold on--I think my friend’s texting me,” he says hastily to Nyma, disengaging himself and starting to fight his way through the throng. 

“Wait, but I didn’t get your number!” she calls after him. He doesn’t slow. 

The theater is sparsely populated--there are still around 10 minutes before the screening starts--so Allura is easy to pick out, sitting by herself in a middle row. 

“Allura!” he exclaims from the end of the row. “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh--Lance.” She’s caught off guard. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Me neither. You a film major or something?” 

“Or something,” she replies, in a tone that he doesn’t quite have the balls to call “flirty,” however much he wants to. “I’m just interested in learning a bit more about Latin America--I never studied it much in school.”    
  


“Oh, cool. Not many people are aware of that. I mean, I have family in Cuba, so that culture’s something I’ve grown up around, but yeah, it wasn’t covered much in high school or anything.” 

  
“That must have been fascinating--did you grow up in Cuba?” 

“Nah, I’m a Florida boy. And it wasn’t that interesting growing up. When we visited, I mostly just wanted to go to the beach and stuff--I wasn’t, like, actively appreciating the culture, you know?”   


“Yes, I feel the same way about England. I suppose I just always took our traditions for granted until I came here.”

“You lived in England? When’d you come over?” 

“I was an international student at the university, but I’m staying on to look for graduate school opportunities.” 

“Cool,” Lance repeats, finding that he means it. “It must’ve been hard coming to a foreign country on your own.” 

“Well, I did miss my family for quite a while. But we have a family friend over here that helped me a lot with the transition. And now I have my friends and my work.” 

“Right, right. Do you think you’re gonna settle here?” 

“Maybe--I don’t want to make any definite decisions, though. What about yourself? Do you have any plans for the future?” 

“Other than getting swole with you? Not really. I’m just trying to survive college.” 

“I can relate,” she laughs. “Right down to the stress-ice cream!” 

Lance shuffles sheepishly. “Yeah, about Wednesday...sorry if I was rude to you back there--you kinda caught me off guard.” 

“Oh--don’t worry about it,” she says, shaking her head. “I understand. I was...actually rather surprised to see you myself.” She seems lost in thought for a moment, then straightens up and adds sternly, “Sugar right after your workout! We’ll have to work on that.” 

“Hey, in my defense, I was only going because my friend dragged me along.” 

“Mm hm,” she raises an eyebrow...skeptically? Playfully? 

He raises his hands in surrender. “Swear to God! I’m committed!” 

“Well, I hope you are. I don’t work with quitters.” 

The house lights dim before Lance can respond. “Whoops--I gotta get to my seat,” he says instead, scanning the growing crowd for Hunk. “It was nice talking to you though--see ya on Wednesday!” 

\---

Allura is reeling. Lance? At an avant-garde film fest on a  _ Friday _ ? She’d pegged him for the fratboy type, but maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye. And even more disturbingly--they’d actually had a nice conversation! Who knew he had things to say other than corny pickup lines? She finds that she’s genuinely curious about his childhood and experience in Cuba, and it had felt like the interest was mutual. 

Two hours later, still lost in thought, she climbs into her Uber and decides that what she really needs is a good conversation and a strong drink. The Rebel is tiny, grimy establishment from which laughter and chatter can be heard half a block away. Allura slips gratefully into its warmth and shrugs out of her jacket, scanning the crowd. 

“Allura!” a voice calls from somewhere to her left. 

“Axca!” she waves back, catching sight of her friend through the bodies. She fights her way to the bar where Axca stands, and breathlessly orders herself the kind of fruity cocktail that sorority girls drink in bad movies. 

“Woah,” Axca laughs. “What’s the story behind  _ that  _ order?” 

Allura sighs. “Well, I’ve just come from a very interesting show about Latin America, and it’s making me think a lot about heavy stuff. Colonialism, white guilt, you know….” 

“Sure,” Axca cocks her head. “But you’re smart when it comes to that stuff, and you only come to me when you have issues that you’re not smart about. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we can totally talk about Latin America if that’s what you really want to do, but is it?” 

Allura hesitates. It feels shallow and wrong to admit that she’d rather talk about herself than the struggles of people abroad, and yet it’s true. She needs a break. “Okay, you got me.”    
  


“Boy stuff?”    
  


“I...suppose one could say that, yes.” 

“Oooh,” Axca leans forward on the bar, “tell me about him.” 

“Well...there’s not much to tell.” Allura’s being coy and she knows it. Of _course_ there’s plenty to tell--just the fact that she’s run into him on two separate occasions in half a week on a campus of over 30,000 people is story material on its own. And yet, she has an irrational, nonsensical desire to protect Lance from the scrutiny of her friend. _Or maybe,_ says the sly voice in the back of her head, _you just want to keep_ _him to yourself._ Absurd, she knows, but she can’t shake the feeling. “His name is Lance. He’s from the gym. He’s majoring in computer science. He’s tall...brown hair, blue eyes--”  
  


“Is he hot?” interrupts Axca, bluntly. “‘Cause he kinda sounds like he is.” 

“Definitely...above average,” Allura concedes, unwilling to say more. “But that’s just my problem, Axca--I don’t want to think he’s hot! I can’t!” 

“Why not?”    
  


“Because he’s my _ client _ . I train him. It’d be totally weird if we went out.” 

“Would it? It sounds like you guys are the perfect match--you could workout together, look hot together...I know plenty of couples that go to the gym; it’s not _ that  _ unusual.” 

“It’s not that so much as my professionalism. Don’t you think it’s morally wrong to date someone you’re serving?” 

“No? It’s not like there’s some weird power dynamic between you two. He pays, you give him workouts. Simple as that.” 

“Yes, but if we started going out, would he expect me to train him free of charge? Would I be obligated to? Would other clients start asking me out if we broke up? And furthermore, even though we don’t have a ‘weird power dynamic’--”Allura frames the words sarcastically with air quotes “--there’s still the matter of professionalism. It sets a  _ precedent. _ ” 

Axca just scoffs. “You’re way too uptight, ‘Llura. I thought you would grow out of it, but….Listen, you haven’t gotten laid in, what--six months? Ten? It’s because of  _ this.  _ Take the poker out of your ass, hook up with the hot boy, and just see how it goes. If you like it, go on a few dates. If it sticks, then maybe you can just workout as partners. I don’t get why you have to complicate everything.” 

“Look, just for the record, I haven’t had... _ sexual relations  _ in six months by  _ choice,  _ thank you very much. And secondly, just because I have a moral code and don’t hook up with every boy that throws himself at my feet--unlike some people I could mention--doesn’t mean I have a poker up my ass.” 

“I do not hook up with every boy that throws himself at my feet!” 

Allura doesn’t bother to respond, moodily stirring the cherry in her drink. 

“Anyway,” Axca says, “it all depends on how much you like him and how much you want to risk.”    
  


“I don’t know.” Allura rests her head on the bar. “At first I thought he was just a dimwit, but it turns out that we actually have some interests in common, and his sense of humor can be endearing, when it’s not cringey. But I’ve only really talked to him twice, so I guess it’s too soon to say.” 

“Yeah, but you’re already thinking about him this much. That counts for something.” Axca can’t even remember the last time Allura talked to her about a boy--probably six months ago, or whenever she broke up with her ex. 

“Maybe I’m just into the idea of someone being into me….” 

“Hey,” says Axca sharply, “don’t say that. You know you’re a total catch, right? Like you said--you’re single by choice! You just needed a break after that Lotor guy.” 

“Yes, I suppose….” 

“If you’re gonna throw yourself a pity party, can we just do it at my place? This music’s really getting to me.” 

Allura looks up hopefully. “ _ Titanic  _ and bad wine?” 

“Yes to  _ Titanic,  _ no to bad wine. I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight; I don’t want a sad sack ‘Llura on my hands.” 

They end up watching  _ Titanic  _ and half a season of  _ The Bachelorette.  _ “I love you,” says Allura sleepily, as she drifts off on Axca’s couch. 

Her friend just rolls her eyes. “Bitch, I know.” 

\---

By the time Tuesday night rolls around again, Lance is a ball of nervous energy. He spends a solid 20 minutes rooting through and trying on all of the workout gear that he and Hunk collectively own before deciding on an outfit nearly identical to what he would have worn anyway, then spends another 20 minutes grilling Hunk on the salient parts of the film fest, just in case Allura brings it up and he has to say something smart. He paces the tiny room, makes his bed, and organizes all of his textbooks. He FaceTimes Pidge, talks too loudly for five minutes, then hangs up abruptly and calls his mom. 

“Uh, Lance?” asks Hunk timidly, from where he’s cowering on his bed, trying to solve a problem set. “You good?” 

“I’m training with Allura tomorrow,” snaps Lance. “I’ve gotta prepare.” 

“You’ve already had your first session; does it really matter what you wear?”    
  


“Um,  _ yes. _ ” Lance rolls his eyes as though to scorn the audacity of the question. “Second impressions, Hunk, second impressions. Just because we totally hit it off the first time doesn’t mean I can just let my guard down now!” 

“Your life, man,” says Hunk doubtfully, ignoring the “totally hit it off.” “But can you, like, keep it down, please?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Lance flops down on his bed. “I guess I am a little nervous….” 

“What for?”

“She’s just...Argh, she’s just so cool, Hunk! She’s got at least two jobs, she’s already graduated, she’s so pretty...why would I be good enough for her?” 

“No offense, but is that even a relevant concern?” 

Lance sits up with a glare. “What do you mean?” 

“I thought you were done chasing her, man!”    
  


“What, just because of what happened at Ben and Jerry’s? The Lancenator never retreats!” 

“Ok, one--don’t call yourself that; it’s lame, and that’s coming from someone who loves you. And two--what happened to ‘it’s a business transaction’ and ‘I’m not crying over her anymore’?” 

“Mm...I don’t think I ever said those things, Hunk.” 

“Uh, yeah, you did, Lance. Less than a week ago.” 

“Nope, didn’t happen. Don’t recall. Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

Hunk rolls his eyes. When Lance is determined to forget something, it’s as good as gone. Maybe this is the product of a childhood spent covering for his older siblings, or maybe he was just born a pathological liar--Hunk doesn’t really know or care. Instead he opts for a peace offering: “You still want a ride tomorrow?” 

“Duh.” 

Hunk returns to his problem set with a sigh; Lance resumes staring at the ceiling. 

“Hey, Hunk?” he asks, not two minutes later. 

“Yeah?” Hunk glances mournfully at his homework, which is looking less and less like something he’s going to finish tonight. 

“Do you really think that I have no chance with her?” Lance’s voice is soft and small, and while Hunk usually wants his friend to shut up, he has to admit that this quietness is worse. 

“Of course you do.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, c’mon, Lance--you’re smart, funny, handsome (I think; I’m not really into dudes, but if I was, I’d be into you), caring...Allura’s gotta see all of that.” 

“But what if she sees the other stuff first?” 

“Other stuff?”    
  


“The...the bad pick-up lines, how insecure I am….I don’t know Hunk, I’m just such a mess.” 

“That’s not true,” says Hunk with as much firmness as he can muster, “and you know it. So stop sitting there feeling sorry for yourself, and come help me with these stupid equations.” 

“...Can I get under the covers with you?”    
  


 

“Duh.” 

\---

“Good morning, Lance,” says Allura the next day. “Welcome back to another session--are you ready to get started?” 

It’s 6:45 and Lance is clearly not a morning person, but he does his best impression of a game nod, which is good enough for Allura, and away they go. Pidge and Hunk trail behind. Keith and Shiro didn’t even bother showing up now that they’ve realized that Lance is serious about the whole thing. 

“So, did you like the films on Friday?” asks Allura, deftly adjusting the fly machine for Lance. 

“Uh, yeah, I thought they were super interesting!” Lance is able to say this sincerely. “I really liked the third one. I thought that the....cinematography was really interesting. The camera angles were so unusual--like that shot of the beetle from below contrasted with a huge aerial shot in the next frame. It really kept me engaged as a viewer.” He thanks his sister fervently in his head as he says this--because Veronica’s a film major, he’s heard way more than his fair share about shot composition.  

Allura looks surprised. “Wow, I didn’t even pay attention to that! I was just thinking about the general artistic direction--obvious stuff like color symbolism, messaging...It’s so cool that you noticed all of those things.” 

He fights down his blush. “Yeah, well,” he says as modestly as possible, “my sister majors in film, so. She likes to make us watch stuff ‘critically.’ It’s kinda cool, but it also kinda sucks, like when we’re watching dumb movies over Christmas break and she wants us to be analyzing every fricken frame.” 

“Film? I’m intrigued. You’ll have to tell me more after this set.” 

The workout blows by. Lance learns that Allura’s parents are originally from Ethiopia, but that they met at grad school in London, and that she spends most of her time either working as a personal trainer, or at Ben and Jerry’s, or with her family friend, Coran, and former sorority sister, Axca. (He barely manages to restrain himself from asking if she spends any time with a boyfriend, too.) Allura, for her part, learns about the extensive García clan, of which Lance is the middle child, his friends and roommate, and his plans to work at a startup when he graduates. At the end of the hour, she gives him a stretching routine and instructions for a few light home workout sessions, and they arrange to meet again that Friday. 

“I think we’ll work up to this over a couple of weeks,” she says, passing him a towel, “but I would really like us to eventually meet everyday.” 

“Yeah?” his smile is blinding. “I’d like that, too.” 

“At the gym,” she appends sternly.    
  


“At the gym.” Lance is all innocence and sincerity. 

\---

And so that’s exactly how it goes. For the following months, from December to March, they meet every day at 6:45. Allura puts Lance through his paces, he refrains from flirting with her, and miraculously, they develop a...friendly rapport. Allura is careful to use this terminology in her head because she doesn’t want to assume that his feelings for her are anything more than that. And--she’s not sure that she’s ready for her feelings for  _ him  _ to be anything more than that. She doesn’t forget how he described their relationship to his friend in the ice cream shop-- “business transaction,” it had sounded like. Allura enjoys their time together, and likes to think that Lance does, too, but it wouldn’t do to get too invested. 

Still, sometimes Lance makes it hard for her to remember this, like when he lights up about unexpected things (“I saw a guy in Heelies on campus today! Man, I thought those had died in 2008. It made me so happy; that guy’s really out there living his best life….”), or when he asks her about her day like he means it, or when he compliments her...everything (“That last exercise you gave me was awesome!” “You’re so articulate!” “I’d never considered that point of view before, but now that you mention it…” “Where do you get your brows done? They always look so good.”). Allura doesn’t know how she had missed it before, but the boy is infuriatingly charming. He has a natural curiosity that makes him an attentive listener and easy conversation partner. And he’s funny--she’s found herself laughing more recently, and it feels good. Even Coran’s made a comment about it. 

“Have you been trying those new diet supplements I suggested?” he asks her, during their weekly Saturday dinner. 

“Um...which ones?” 

“The Ashwagandha! It’s a mood stimulant, and you’ve been positively glowing recently!” 

She makes up a vague reply and smiles into her mashed potatoes. 

Axca, of course, is harder to fool. “This is about that boy from the gym, isn’t it,” she says to Allura one day over burgers downtown. “I wanna say his name was...Lance?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Allura sniffs. 

“Oh please, like I would forget about your first romantic prospect in months.....So tell me about him! What’s up; did you decide to go for it?” 

“It’s none of your businessssss,” sings Allura, rolling her eyes playfully.    
  


“Come on, tell me what’s happening!” 

“Ok, ok,” Allura puts on a show of reluctance, as though she hasn’t been dying to vent to someone for weeks. “So, nothing’s happened--yet. But I’ve realized that he’s a good guy! And I think I’d be ready to try it out, if he’s into me…” 

“ _ ‘If’ _ ?” scoffs Axca. “Allura. Of  _ course  _ he’s into you. You’re, like, the single hottest girl to walk the earth, plus you’re smart as fuck, and he liked you to begin with. That’s how this whole thing started, right?” 

“Yes, but I shut him down pretty quickly.” 

“If he’s really serious about you, he probably just backed off out of respect.” 

“I don’t know...he hasn’t made a move on me in months.”    
  


“Hasn’t made a move on you, or has indicated that he wouldn’t be down?” 

“The former, I suppose.” 

“Exactly. So shoot your shot, ‘Llura. I’ve missed seeing you this happy. It’s not like you’re committing to marriage.” 

“..You have ketchup on your shirt.” 

“Allura.” 

“What?” 

  
“Don’t avoid the question.” 

“You didn’t ask one.”    
  


“You know what I mean--are you gonna go for it?”    
  


Allura sighs, and then looks up at Axca with new intensity. “You know what? I think I am.” 

\--

Oh, the agony and the ecstasy. Lance can’t believe everything that’s happened since he dropped that weight on the day of their fateful first meeting. He and Allura have gone from enemies to friends to...whatever is happening right now….Which brings him back to the agony and the ecstasy, because on the one hand, Allura is speaking to him! Laughing at his jokes! But on the other hand...nothing else seems to have changed. They are as friendly and platonic as ever, and Lance doesn’t dare make any sudden moves.

Oh, the agony and the ecstacy. Lance can’t believe everything that’s happened since he dropped that weight on the day of their fateful first meeting. He and Allura have gone from enemies to friends to...whatever is happening right now….Which brings him back to the agony and the ecstacy, because on the one hand, Allura is speaking to him! Laughing at his jokes! But on the other hand...nothing else seems to have changed. They are as friendly and platonic as ever, and Lance doesn’t dare make any sudden moves. 

“What am I gonna doooo, Pidge?” he whines over FaceTime, sprawled across his bed. 

“I don’t know, but if I hear her name one more time, someone’s gonna be sorry.” 

“It was just a simple question, Jeez.” 

“I’m sick of you complaining and not talking to her about it, and I have a buttload of reading to be doing, so sorry if your love life, or lack thereof, isn’t top on my list of priorities.” 

He tries Keith instead:

“Keith, my man, I never thought I’d say this, but...do you have any love advice?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Like, how did you and Shiro end up together?” 

Keith, predictably, just shrugs. “Motorcycles.” 

Lance rubs his temples. “What?” 

“He asked me if I wanted to ride his motorcycle sometime, and then he let me drive him around.” 

“Well, that was bold of him.” 

“I’m licensed.” 

“What the hell? How come you’ve never mentioned that?” 

“Did you want to know before?” 

“I thought it was just one of those things that would come up in conversation! Why do you mooch off of Hunk so much, then?” 

“It’s better for the environment?” 

“Whatever man.” 

With Hunk spending every possible minute before spring break with Shay, Pidge out of commission, and Keith being, well, Keith, Lance has only one more place to turn. 

“Lance? What’s up?” 

“Hey Shiro. Can I talk to you for a bit?” 

“Okay…?”  

“Um, it’s about Allura.” 

“Woah, buddy, you’re still seeing her?” 

“Kind of…? She’s still training me, but I guess it doesn’t count as  _ seeing _ , per se.” 

“Okay….” 

“Yeah, so I wanted your advice--do you think I should ask her out?”    
  


“Hold up; come inside.” Shiro ushers Lance into the hallway of his tiny apartment and leads him to a beat-up couch. “Okay,” he says again, once they’re both seated comfortably. “So tell me about it.” 

For the next twenty minutes, Lance recounts every tiny development in his relationship with Allura over the past few months: running into each other at the film fest and realizing their common interests, learning about each other’s families, growing more comfortable, joking before and after each set….

“...And I just feel like if I don’t make a move, someone else is gonna, and that would be the biggest mistake of my life!” finishes Lance, throwing his hands up dramatically. 

  
“Well, probably not the  _ biggest  _ mistake.” 

“IDK, man, she’s like, my ideal woman. She’s probably  _ everyone’s  _ ideal woman; how could she not be? She’s so smart and tall and beautiful and strong….” he trails off dreamily. 

“Yeah,” says Shiro sensibly, “but you’ve still got around 80 years to fuck up something else, and knowing you, that’s probably gonna count for something. Hence this not being the biggest mistake of your life.” 

“Not the time, Shiro.” 

“You’re right; sorry. So...you wanted my advice? I think you should go for it. I mean, based on what you’ve told me, she’s probably interested in you, too. But even if she isn’t, you’re almost done with your program, and she’s not even a student anymore, so you could feasibly avoid her forever if things go badly.” 

“Yeah, but how do I do it?” 

“Just invite her to dinner or something.” 

“She told me not to do that anymore!” 

“Christ, Lance, what do you want me to say? She told you not to go after her, period. But that was  _ five months  _ ago--people change! Obviously you’re going to have to break the rules one way or another.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Lance slumps wearily back against the pillows. “Thanks for listening to me, anyway.” 

  
“Of course. Any time, Lance. Sorry if I was harsh--I just don’t want to see you lose this. She seemed pretty awesome when I saw her at the gym.” 

“Yeah….Uh, by the way, did you really let Keith drive you around on your motorcycle before you guys were dating?” 

Shiro looks sheepish. “Maybe. Why?” 

“Dude. Did you, like, have a death wish, or something?”   
  


“He’s actually pretty good,” Shiro says. “And it was hot as fuck.” 

“Ew, gross, I don’t wanna hear about you guys.” 

“Nothing like a man who can handle a big machine like that, if you know what I mean.” 

“ _ Shiro. _ ” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Shiro chuckles to himself for a moment. “Anyway--yeah, I was working at a coffee shop that he used to go to a lot, and I always thought he was cute, so one day I asked if he wanted to see my bike.” 

“Did you even know if he was into guys?” 

“Nope!” says Shiro cheerfully. “But I had to try--I just knew he was the one.” 

\---

 

Monday finally arrives, bringing with it the promise of a new session. Allura feels nearly catatonic. She sits at her island counter before work, bouncing her leg and munching almonds by the handful. Eating this much before work is rare for her, but today she can’t help herself. It feels like the minutes are simultaneously passing too quickly and too slowly. She gets up and paces for a bit, then decides to check in early and panic in the company of her coworkers, instead of alone.  _ Today’s the day,  _ she thinks to herself, gathering her keys, gym pass, and water bottle.  _ The day I fire my gun, or whatever Axca was saying.  _ It had been something to do with firearms, Allura remembers that much. She can hardly believe that this is happening. What if Lance rejects her, or rails at her for shutting him down before, or tells her that he’s been seeing someone new? What if she’s just missed the boat?  _ No point in dwelling on the negative _ , she reminds herself sternly. It’s a simple question; Lance will be interested or he won’t be. It’s not rocket science. 

Nevertheless, her fingers tremble as she rolls a bench over to their customary squat rack and begins to adjust it. Oddly enough, Lance seems off today as well, although she doesn’t have much time to observe him between setting up and trying not to vomit. He stands with his hands driven deep in his pockets, shifting from side to side. 

“Okay, Lance, let’s start with ten dead-lifts with the bar,” Allura prompts him, when she’s straightened and he still makes no move to touch a single weight. 

His eyes snap abruptly into focus. “Uh--yeah, right. That.” He picks up the bar, stands for a moment, then catches her eye in the mirror and promptly drops it again. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, trying to restrain herself from reaching out a hand to him. Whatever the problem is, he certainly doesn’t look sick or faint, and touching him could be her undoing. 

He fixes her with an oddly intense stare. “Listen, Allura, I--” his eyes drop “--need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, sorry.” 

As soon as he’s high-tailed out of sight, Allura exhales a sigh of relief she hadn’t known she was holding. It’s good to be out of Lance’s proximity for a moment. So that she can breathe. So that she can collect her frayed nerves. He just looks so  _ cute  _ today, and she doesn’t know why. Is it his clothes? His sudden shyness? The cowlicks left from the baseball cap he wore into the gym, despite it being 6:45 am on a winter’s day with no sun to hide from? She doesn’t know exactly, but she  _ does  _ know that if she doesn’t get it together soon, the training session will be a total waste.

Lance comes trotting back to her after what feels like much too little time for her to have done anything other than work herself up more. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asks. 

“Mh hm.” He doesn’t look it. “Anyway, let’s get crack-a-lackin’. I’m gonna destroy this thing.” He claps his hands together, jumps up and down, rolls and shakes his shoulders. It’s a totally unnecessary routine, given that Allura makes him run a half-mile warm-up, but it does make the butterflies in her stomach even more excited. His fake bravado is charming, his enthusiasm is charming, the way his feet flop on his ankles when he jumps is charming. 

When he’s done with this dead-lifts, Allura decides it’s time to drop a subtle hint. “So,” she says, as he starts a series of lateral kettlebell squats across the floor. “I think you’re making wonderful progress. We might even finish the program earlier than expected.” 

“Yeah?” he grunts, sweat beading the back of his neck. 

“Um, yes. Your butt looks...nice...in those pants.” Nice is an understatement, but Allura’s glad she didn’t go for a flashier adjective; Lance nearly drops the kettlebell as it is. 

“Sorry--what?” 

“I--I’m sorry,” she backtracks quickly, cursing her lack of flirting experience with everything in her. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I was just...noticing that your goals are coming along nicely.”    
  


“...Thank you?” he still looks somewhat suspicious. Allura wants to die. “You look good, too, Allura. Not that I’m training you.” 

“Oh...thank you.” She fiddles with the ends of her braids and checks her watch. “Oh--I lost track of time; it’s time for us to go to the next circuit now. Sorry!” 

Christ, she hasn’t been this jumpy since her first round of college finals. 

The rest of the workout passes in an agonizing blur. Somehow, she makes it through without completely setting her face on fire, but it’s a near thing. She walks him to the showers, stomach turning. “I’ll, um, just...catch up to you when you’re done,” she ekes out, in a voice that would make even 12-year-old boys squirm. “We can talk about what you want to do in terms of continuing the program?” Everything in her is screaming to  _ say something! Ask him out!... _ but she can’t bring herself to. Not here, in front of the men’s locker room, perspiring faintly and hair half-undone. 

“Yeah, sure,” agrees Lance, wiping his face with a gym towel. “I’ll catch you in a sec.” Is he blushing too? Or is that just post-workout glow?  _ Post-workout glow...afterglow...hook-up... _ her brain supplies unhelpfully, and it’s then that she decides she really can’t take it anymore. Allura turns on her heel while still attempting to maintain eye-contact with Lance, gathers more speed than anticipated, and crashes into something warm and solid. She flies backwards, tripping over her feet and wind-milling her arms wildly, and then she’s going down. There’s a flash of brown and blue in the corner of her eye. Suddenly, everything slows. 

“Woah, are you okay?” Lance asks her, bending over her face, and bringing his own uncomfortably close in the process.  _ Kissing distance,  _ notes her traitorous brain. He seems to have caught her inches above the ground. Now, he gently raises her back so that she can slide away from him onto the floor. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she laughs awkwardly. “So sorry for the inconvenience--I must have not been paying attention.” 

“No, my God, that was totally my fault,” chimes in a second voice. Allura looks up further and realizes that she’s sitting at the feet of a massive man, whose broad chest must have been the wall that she ran into. Now, he extends a calloused hand and helps her up. “Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am. You alright?”    
  


“No, of course she’s not!” exclaims Lance indignantly, getting between the giant and Allura. “You need to watch where you’re going, pal; she could’ve been really hurt!” 

The man takes a half step backwards and raises his hands defensively. “Woah, fellow, there’s no need to raise voices here; I said I was sorry.” 

“Lance, please,” Allura puts a hand on his shoulder, willing herself to ignore what that pathetic bit of contact is doing to her. “It was an accident and I’m fine.” She turns towards the man. “Really, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was my fault.” 

He nods, casting Lance a last, wary look before continuing on to the locker rooms. 

Allura faces Lance again. “That was…impressive,” she admits, squeezing his bicep a little as she does. “I didn’t know your reflexes were like that.” 

“Years of competitive ballroom dancing,” says Lance modestly, looking down at his feet. “Sorry if that was overkill. I kinda reacted before I could really think about it all.” 

“No, not at all,” she laughs. “Actually, it was sort of...hot?”    
  


“Yeah?” he flashes her a signature goofy grin, although there’s an edge of guarded hopefulness in it that she can’t help but notice and melt about. “I am a smokin’ babe. I get that a lot.” 

“Mh hm, I’m sure.” Is she nervous-grinning right now? It feels like she is. She can’t help it, can’t even be mad about it. “And if I agreed that you were a smokin’ babe, what would you do?”    
  
“I’d be so down,” he says earnestly, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.    
  


“Well, then,” she clears her throat awkwardly. “Lance García, I think you are one smokin’ babe and I would love to get coffee with you sometime.” 

His smile is wide enough to bridge galaxies, and as bright as one, too. And suddenly it doesn’t matter that they are both a little flushed, a little sweaty, and standing for all the world to see in front of the men’s locker room at a cheap gym. “Allura, I think you’re pretty bangin’ yourself, and I’m free on Thursdays.” 

She takes his hand, and it feels so natural that she can’t even be bothered to think about whether or not it’s too soon for that. 

“Lovely. How about two pm at the Starbucks on Market Street?” 

“Perfect.” 

“I have a punch card. I’ll buy your drink.” 

“Wow, there’s nothing more romantic than a budget date.” 

“You’re so stupid.” 

“But you like it.” 

“Yes I do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! as always, i would appreciate any feedback that you have!


End file.
